“Okay, so we were different, but I never thought I was too good for you, Tucker.”
“No, you wouldn’t think that, because you’re a nice person. But I knew it. It didn’t stop me from kissing you, though. I saw my opportunity and took advantage of you being sad and vulnerable.” He rubbed the back of his neck, where tension had gathered. He hadn’t meant to start confessing his sins, but now that he had… “I shouldn’t have kissed you that night.”
“So you regret it?”
He met her gaze and something in the depths of those blue eyes demanded complete honesty. “No,” he said softly. “I’m not that noble.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” The corners of her mouth turned up in a saucy smile.
He stared at her. He still hadn’t quite made the adjustment from the virginal Lacey to the more self-assured woman standing in front of him. Once he did, he’d have a helluva time keeping his hands to himself.
She gestured toward the table as if ready to change the subject. “As I was saying, the supplies are all things I like. That means your choice of beverage is coffee, water, or wine. Most cowboys I know prefer beer.”
He was more than ready to change the subject. Although he did prefer beer, he’d been known to drink wine. But he wasn’t going to use up whatever she’d brought for herself. That would be rude. “I’ll just drink water.”
“You’re sure? I’m having wine and unless you hate it, you’re welcome to have some with me.”
“I don’t hate it, but I wouldn’t feel right using up your—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She pulled two goblets out of the cupboard and set one by each plate. “Besides, I think we need to toast.”
“To Christmas?” He had a tough time believing she’d want to do that.
“No, to meeting again after all these years.”
“Oh.” He was flattered that she’d count it a toasting occasion. “I guess we could toast to that.”
“It’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I do. It took a runaway horse and a wrecked snowmobile to accomplish it.”
She opened the wine and poured each of them a glass. “And a slimeball. Let’s not forget my worthless ex.”
“Husband?” His high spirits plummeted. He should have known she hadn’t intended to be out here all by herself, that a man had originally been part of the deal.
“Boyfriend.” She picked up her wineglass and handed one to him. “Fortunately that’s all he ever was.”
Tucker understood now why she’d looked at him with interest. With his playboy reputation, he had a history of attracting women on the rebound. That kind of relationship wasn’t built to last. Either the woman moved on after she felt better about herself or she went back to her ex.
Usually that was fine with him, because he was careful not to get invested. But he didn’t feel like being Lacey’s rebound guy. She held a special place in his heart, and he didn’t want to tarnish that memory.
Still, he knew his lines in situations like this. “Your ex is obviously a loser if he let you go.”
“Thank you. I agree.” She lifted her glass. “To old friends.”
“To old friends.” He touched his glass to hers and drank. But as he lowered the glass, honesty made him speak up. “We weren’t really friends in high school, Lacey.”
“Depends on how you define it. I thought we became friends that night outside the gym.”
“I guess.” If she hadn’t run away, they would have become more than friends. He was glad they hadn’t. He’d have enough trouble keeping this night from veering toward sex when all he’d done was kiss her. If she hadn’t left, he would have continued the seduction he’d begun with that kiss. He’d been eighteen and flooded with hormones.
Now he was twenty-eight, and still somewhat hormone driven, but not to the exclusion of all reason. When necessary he could summon a little common sense. Lacey was a woman he could fall for, and yet she’d been recently dumped. That combo meant she was off limits.
She waved a hand at the table. “Let’s eat.”
“Good idea.” Tucker hadn’t been particularly polished when he’d arrived at the Last Chance, but Sarah Chance was a stickler for good manners. He’d learned that any cowboy who worked at the ranch had better know the fundamentals or risk losing his job.
Setting down his wineglass, he rounded the table to pull out Lacey’s chair.
“How gallant.” She accepted the gesture with a smile and slipped gracefully into the chair.
As he scooted it forward, he breathed in the scent of candy canes and woman. Obviously she’d used that soap, too. He wanted to bury his nose in the curve of her neck and nibble on her earlobe. But that wouldn’t be wise.
He took a seat opposite her, unfolded the paper napkin she’d provided and settled it on his lap. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes, which made their dinner seem all the more cozy in comparison. The food smelled delicious, but hungry as he was, he waited for Lacey to start eating.
She began by picking up a serrated knife and slicing off a couple pieces of bread. The scent of it burst forth, beckoning him with an aroma that reminded him of good sex. He’d always thought food and lovemaking went together.
He set that notion firmly aside. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“You still don’t.” She held out the breadboard. “For all you know, this tastes like Styrofoam.”
He picked up the heel, bit into its soft center, and closed his eyes. Heaven.
“It must be all right.”
“Mmm.” He glanced at her and nodded enthusiastically as he chewed.
“Fortunately my mom taught me to bake when I was a kid. I picked up basic cooking skills when I realized my dad was hopeless in the kitchen. Of course, now he has Helen.”
Grasping at a subject that didn’t involve nak*d bodies, he asked about her family as they both dug into the beef stew.
She chose to ignore her dad and Helen and talk about her siblings, instead. Kathy, four years younger than she was, had married and moved to Ohio. Steven was finishing a degree in engineering at the University of Wyoming. Even given Lacey’s reluctance to celebrate Christmas, Tucker was surprised she wasn’t with her family right now, and he said as much.
“I know it’s not very evolved of me, but I grit my teeth whenever I have to watch the way Helen celebrates Christmas,” she said. “So I keep my participation to a minimum. This year I used Lenny as an excuse. I told them he was likely to propose over the holiday, and that I thought the two of us should create our own special memories by renting this cute little cabin for a week during Christmas.”
“Do they know Lenny’s not here with you?”
“No. I decided when he bailed that I’d keep that info to myself and come out here alone. The irony is that I really had planned to have a semi-normal Christmas with him. He likes the holiday, so I was going to make an effort for his sake, sort of to prove I could.”
Tucker put down his spoon. “What happened with Lenny?” He cared about her broken heart and was willing to let her talk it out. That didn’t mean he had to make it all better with some good sex, though. There was such a thing as self-preservation.
“Two weeks ago he met somebody he liked better, somebody who didn’t have—to use his phrase—my baggage.”
Tucker had the immediate urge to clean the guy’s clock. “Hell, everyone has baggage.”
“I know.” She sliced off two more pieces of bread and gestured for him to take one. “Maybe Lenny and his girlfriend, Suzanne, have matching luggage tags.”
“Could be, but I’ll bet they’re attached to the most boring suitcases in the world, that black nylon kind a million other people have.”
She smiled at him. “I like to think so.”
“Whereas yours has style. It might even be purple.”
That made her laugh. “Okay, that’s my new slogan. I may have baggage, but I carry it with style.”
“You do, Lacey.” He picked up his wineglass and lifted it in her direction. The sparkle was back in her blue eyes, and he liked seeing that. “You definitely do.”
“Thanks, Tucker.” She lifted her glass, too. “So do you.”
She wouldn’t think so if she knew what a screwup he’d been recently. He wished now that he’d made more of himself in the years since they’d last met. She’d probably earned a degree before landing her Forest Service job.
Then something occurred to him. “Did you go into forestry because of the trees?” Once the words were out of his mouth, he realized how stupid that sounded. Didn’t everybody who majored in forestry love trees? “I mean, because you used to love the evergreens at Christmas time.”
She paused, a spoonful of stew halfway to her mouth, and stared at him. “You are the only person who’s made that connection. I didn’t realize it myself until recently, when I started thinking about celebrating a real Christmas here with Lenny and knew I’d want a real tree.”
“But you gave up the idea when he…” He wasn’t sure what term to use that wouldn’t be insulting.